Ode to Milkweed Pods
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I love milkweed pods,
And I love the field I find them in
Up in the woods of Maine.
Every time I walk into
That hallowed Maine field,
My eyes sweep for
Milkweed pods, and if I locate
Them, I always lie amongst
Them, as if their long
Stalks were blessing me,
The very same feeling I get as
When I dive into the healing foam
And font of the ocean.
So simple is Maine, so
Hardscrabble are
Its shrouded woods, so
Hidden its fields of milkweed,
So magnanimous to me,
So accepting, as if
I was a monarch butterfly,
And had alighted their sweet
Nectar to imbibe for my
Migration to eternity!
Leo Carroll
August 26, 2018
I thought I would
Never sit amongst you again…
That you would be but
A memory I always inhaled in the
Hymnal of my breath,
But then there you were —
Unexpectedly back, awaiting me —
The face to me of Maine’s autumn, and
So accepting unconditionally!
And so amongst you
I reclined, and you began to
Nourish me as if I was a
Monarch butterfly, and your pods
Became the nectar to sustain my pilgrim’s
Flight, until finally my migration
Reached the old by-and-by…
Ode to ‘Reading Room’
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How I love my time
Spent in the woods of Maine!
At one point in my life, I went up
There for twenty one straight years every
November, and in all my
Life I have never found a more
Consistently peaceful place to
Contemplate and write. Every sight and
Sound in the woods had
Meaning to me, and I had a
Wide variety of names to refer to
Some of my favorite spots –
For example, the “Reading Room,”
The “Field”, and the “Trap Line” were
Three locations I regularly
Visited. Each had a natural niche
For me to settle into, and to
Wonder and daydream.
I wrote hundreds of poems
While up there. I would just sit in
Silence. The “Reading Room”
Became my best-liked, and
I would often end my day
There as the late afternoon
Light took over the woods.
Invariably at a certain point,
I would hear the melancholic
Barking of a dog coming from
The pasture of a distant, white
Farmhouse. The sound would waft
Across the tops of the trees,
And I would be reminded
Of something in my past which
Was comfortable and I called “home.”
And so, even now when I no longer
Go up to those beloved Maine
Woods, I will daydream
Of the many walks which
I took to find my resting place
In the “Reading Room.”
In the case of the poem for
Which this meditation is
Written, I was daydreaming
One January day of what
The path I walked would look
Like if there were no footprints in
The snow, and if the “Reading Room”
Was all alone watching what
I would have been watching, but
Sadly there was no one there
Now to call the barking
Dog home …
Leo Carroll
February 25, 2019
No footsteps in the snow
Lead up to you today,
No flesh cold sits upon your
Ledge, no mind wanders and then
Wonders at every sight and sound, and no
Melancholy rises up in the throat
When bays a dog across the
Primeval expanse between you
And a lone, white farmhouse –
Which even now from here,
Lo all these hundreds of miles away,
I can still see gleaming like a
Shining beacon across the tree tops
In my daydream’s gaze.
Ode to Ladybug
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I love ladybugs!
I always have! As a six
Years old boy, I
Would collect them
In a mayonnaise
Jar, with the lid
Punched with nail holes
To ensure they could
Breathe. I would
Raise the glass to my
Face, and I would
Study them as they
Crawled around inside
Over tiny bits of
Leaves. I would marvel
At how slow and
Peaceful they
Moved. Even today,
Whenever I
Encounter one
In my garden or on
My window sill,
I will pause and
Observe it.
A ladybug all
These decades
Later is still
To me as calming
As ever! In a
Phrenetic world,
A ladybug marches to
Its own refrain.
Leo Carroll
June 27, 2018
O, Ladybug, are you really
My guardian angel? Are you the constant that
Keeps my refrain from buckling?
Or, rather, are you the incarnation of the muse from a
High-desert plain, and from your
Perch have come down from off the
Mesa, to touch in inspiration
The three letters of my name?
Walking with the ‘Word of Autism’
(Book of Isaiah 55:8)
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This poem is related to an earlier
Poem, “The Word of Autism,” dated May 9, 2007.
Both of these poems acknowledge the
Overwhelming, universal presence of Creation as
Described in the Old and New Testaments.
This Eternal Mystery, which manifests
Itself in the likenesses and images of all
Living beings and creatures, therefore
Also exists in the countenances of
Autistic children. In short, autism is a
Face of Creation, too, and autistic children share in
The incarnation of the glorious
Verse of Isaiah 55:8, when Yahweh speaks,
“My thoughts are not your thoughts,
My ways are not your ways.”
In so many respects, this verse
Capsulizes the essence of an autistic child, and
Establishes their place in the sheepfold
Of the innocent lambs of God.
Leo Carroll
September 8, 2018
I could comprehend little of his actions,
As we walked along a graveled path of brambles and
Branches, bushes and such. All he wanted
Was to shake twigs and shoots and leaves and things,
Mesmerized by their invisible colors, scents,
Tastes, and whisperings…What was he looking at,
What did he see, why so much stimulation
From what appeared so ordinary to me? All this was
Beyond me, my understanding overcome
By his mysterious interests and motions – it was
As if this little boy rode a live rail as his
Means of locomotion! But then this child, whose
Senses seemed attuned to some other plane’s planet,
Collapsed me to my knees, by loosing within me
Emotions not measurable by depth or fathom.
For when we went to say “good-bye,” he
Needed not words from any earthen lexicon nor
Thesaurus, but he simply gave me one, two, then three
Insistent, soft taps to my palm – his only want
Was I not leave him…before receiving love
From his “high-five’s” blessed font.
Primeval
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In the great 1969 movie,
“Paint Your Wagon,”
Which is about the wild and
Crazy California gold rush
Of 1849, there is the
Fabulous song, “They Call
The Wind Mariah.” The
Lyrics are powerful, but yet
Hauntingly lonely, and they set
The framework and tempo
For the screenplay starring
Lee Marvin, Clint Eastwood,
And Jean Seberg. It was
A rough, tumultuous
Crossing in 1849 to reach
California, and once there
It was equally rough
And tumultuous to survive.
In the movie, the wind and the
Music were always in the
Background as if they were
Part of the cast. It struck
Me how primeval the wind
Was portrayed, and ever
Since, in any storm, I always
Will look up at the tops
Of trees and “call the
Wind Mariah,” as if
Addressing a supernatural
Force, one that comes
From and simultaneously
Represents Creation,
And wields the contradictory
Attributes of incredible
Power, terror, and the
Magnificent fist of Yahweh
Spreading love and hope and
Beauty upon the land …
Leo Carroll
January 15, 2019
Up my eyes strain to the tops of
Their spires, feeling from out of my primal past
What I cannot begin to plumb nor
Describe. Bend and moan they
Do, to the roar of wind howling
From out of the womb of the universe,
Right here, right now, this place,
This hope, this cave mouth, this new
Millennium, this old ice age, with the same
Shudder, the same words, the
Same stab of terror, and then
Tomorrow, the same sunrise chorus.